Page 47 of Resisting the Temptation (Broken Shelves #3)

Ben

D espite how badly I want to have a conversation about our relationship in the car, I need to be able to look her in the eye and hold her hands while we do.

So Emma puts on a playlist with more artists I’ve never heard of, and we’ve been alternating between comfortable silence and her asking me questions about myself.

I didn’t realize until she asked me about my childhood how much I’ve—unintentionally—kept from her. I know a lot about her because she talks a lot, and I like to listen to her, but she doesn’t know much about me because I usually don’t open up to coworkers or people I’m having sex with.

But if I want Emma to see me as more than a fuck buddy, I know I need to open up to her. I’ve been inside of her, but she doesn’t even know what I went to school for .

I tell her how my childhood was as good as it could have been.

We weren’t always well off. Papà and my Nonno worked long hours for most of my childhood so they could get Rossi off the ground.

I tell her how Sundays were always my father’s one day off so he could spend time with us.

In the warmest months, he’d take Mateo and me surfing while Mamà and Cici would build sandcastles on the shore.

Other times, we’d take a drive through San Diego, and Papà would point out all of the places he was helping build.

I tell her I started helping out with the business when I was fourteen. I wanted to be part of something special. I wanted to help build things like my dad. Even when I was just laying pipes or digging trenches. Even sweating and covered in dirt, I knew it was what I was supposed to be doing.

Papà ran the business out of a small mobile office for years, slowly saving and expanding our reach until ten years ago when we were able to build the building we’re in now.

I tell her my Nonna lived with us after my Nonno passed away when I was thirteen. She only lived with us for four years before she passed as well. I never knew Mamà’s parents because they passed away before I was born.

I tell her Mamà and Papà are both only children, so I don’t have any cousins I’m close to. Only Mateo and Cici.

I tell her I went to San Diego State University so I could still be close to home and help out when I needed to.

I got my bachelor’s in Construction Management with a minor in Accounting.

Papà tried to sway me away from being part of the business because he didn’t want me to work there out of obligation.

But when I thought about doing anything else, it never felt right.

“When I graduated from college, Papà made me do a full-fledged interview in order to get the job. I had to give him a mock plan for a new build and convince him why I would be a vital asset to Rossi.” I chuckle, and Emma giggles.

“ I didn’t even have to do a full on interview.”

“I know. I think it’s part of the reason I was so upset he hired you. He wouldn’t even hire his own son without an interview, but he hired some random girl based on my best friend’s recommendation and a phone call. Now, I think he just wanted to make sure this job was what I really wanted.”

Emma bites her lip. “Are you still frustrated he hired me?”

“No. You’re a natural at what you do, honey. If I’m frustrated, it’s because I have to look at you all day every day and pretend I don’t know what your lips feel like wrapped around my cock.”

“Ben!” she scolds with a half-hearted scowl.

I shrug. I’m not lying. I’ve sat in my office and stared at her through the glass, picturing her plump lips wrapped around my cock more than once.

They’re very distracting. Especially when they’re covered in gloss or smiling or pursed in concentration. Basically all the time.

Even now, when I should be soaking up the beautiful sights of the mountains covered in reds and oranges and a light dusting of snow at the very tippy top, my mind is on the woman next to me .

That’s when it hits me.

“You have this mountain range on a stamp on your left arm, right?”

Emma nods. “Yeah. Snow Canyon. I also have the Wasatch Mountains and the opening to Big Cottonwood Canyon on stamps.” She points to all three scattered on her left arm.

“Even though my family is shitty, the state holds a lot of fond memories and importance. I wanted to be able to take a piece of it with me wherever I go.”

“That’s beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever asked what your tattoos mean. I assume the arrow and mountains on your shoulder with the dates is for Andy?”

Emma smiles. “Yeah. It was my first tattoo, along with his signature in white ink. I had an artist go over it in black a few years ago.” She holds her arm out and shows me a signature nestled between a pinecone and a snake.

“I don’t have a lot of tattoos that mean something.

I just like having art on my body. Some pieces have a special meaning—like the stamps—but most don’t. ”

“Which other ones mean something to you?”

“The hummingbird in my sleeve is for my grandparents. They had a bunch of feeders on their porch, and we’d spend hours watching them through the window.

The butterfly above my knee is colored in the bisexual flag colors—and for me—represents a transformation.

It was one of the first tattoos I got after I moved out of Utah and felt like I could truly be my authentic self. ”

“That’s beautiful. Should I start calling you mariposa? ” I tease .

Emma scrunches her nose. “Please don’t. Morgan calls Hannah ‘Butterfly,’ and I think it would be weird to have the same nickname.”

“All right. Dulzura it is.”

“You’ve never told me what it means.”

“It means ‘sweetness.’ I knew from the moment we met you’d be the sweetest submissive I’ve ever been with, and I was right.” I give her a wink and even though she rolls her eyes, her cheeks get a little pink.

Conversation dies off as we inch closer to her hometown, and the anxiety rolls off of her in waves. I hate seeing her like this. Coming back to the place she grew up should be joyful and exciting, not something that makes her nervous.

I wish I were better with words so I could comfort her better, but I’m not, so I do the only thing I can think of.

I reach across the console and gently grip her hand, intertwining our fingers together before bringing her hand up to my mouth to kiss the back of it. She doesn’t pull away, so I keep her hand in my lap.

I follow the map to the hotel, and when we get there, I begrudgingly let her hand go so I can go check in.

This time, I do get a room with two beds—even if I really don’t want to.